Hecuba: Ah! woe is me! thou art not surely bringing hither mad Cassandra,
the prophetic maid?
Maid: She lives, of whom thou speakest; but the dead thou dost not
weep is here. (Uncovering the corpse) Mark well the body now laid
bare; is not this a sight to fill thee with wonder, and upset thy
hopes?
Hecuba: Ah me! 'tis the corpse of my son Polydorus I behold, whom
he of Thrace was keeping safe for me in his halls. Alas! this is the
end of all; my life is o'er. (Chanting) O my son, my son, alas for
thee! a frantic strain I now begin; thy fate I learnt, a moment gone,
from some foul fiend.
Maid: What! so thou knewest thy son's fate, poor lady.
Hecuba: (chanting) I cannot, cannot credit this fresh sight I see.
Woe succeeds to woe; time will never cease henceforth to bring me
groans and tears.
Studies
